


you're the direction i follow to get home

by makapedia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: ......... kind of, Asexuality Spectrum, Demisexuality, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fruits Basket au, Oral Sex, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia
Summary: Technically, Maka supposes they're dating or… something like it. They hold hands when they walk to school, and sometimes, when Soul's feeling particularly brave, he kisses her brow before he slinks off to his locker to brood moodily.





	you're the direction i follow to get home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeregrineWilliams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeregrineWilliams/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i've got a touch aversion and a stray cat that says you should shut your mouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305735) by [makapedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makapedia/pseuds/makapedia). 



Time slips through her fingers these days.

Days become weeks, and weeks become months, and before she knows it, Christmas has come and gone, too. It's jarring, when she thinks about it. Maka crosses another day off on her calendar and wonders, fleetingly, what she should prepare for New Years. Mama had been a fan of ham, but Maka'd already borrowed her mother's idea for Christmas dinner, and Stein gets weirdly squirmy whenever she prepares meat.

"Maybe something vegetarian, then," she mutters to herself, tapping the pen against her nose.

There's a scoff behind her, and then Soul's arm reaches around to snatch the pen from her grasp. "That's weird. Don't do that."

"Hey!" Maka spins around and slaps his shoulder. " _What's_ weird?"

He clicks the pen and shoves it in his back pocket. "Talking to yourself," he says, and his face scrunches up as he leans in towards her. "And spacing out. You just drew all over your face. Dress you up and can't take you anywhere."

He's one to talk. Soul's paler, these days. Not from any lack of sleep or food or anything - he's a delicate little kitty cat, she thinks smugly, and hasn't quite acclimated to the winter weather yet. He can't nap as easily on the roof if he's too busy shivering, can he? Well, whatever. If she looks dumb with pen on her face, he's a pasty-white little scene kid, and his eyeliner is far darker than any ballpoint pen could paint on her face, anyway.

"I'm not  _spacing out,_ " Maka scoffs. "I was just thinking!"

"Hmmm. Sure."

"I mean it."

"Okay."

" _Soul._ "

There's something about the way he grins that moves something in her. Deep within her, secretive and childish and buried away, and Maka tries to smother the butterflies in her gut as he leans in more, smirking, and god, what she wouldn't give to punch that stupid look off of his stupid face. Obnoxious jerk. Who does he think he is, parading those freckles in front of her, invading her space like this? She ought to kiss him or something.

Or  _something._  Her face heats violently.

Soul's simper only widens. He's the worst, and she has half a mind to seek out Kid's spritz bottle and punish him for his bad behavior.

" _Maka,_ " he sing-songs back.

He's such a jerk. Just for that, Maka reaches and pinches his nose. "Naughty kitties don't get pets, you know."

"Like I care about that!" Soul whines, wilting. Maka pinches his nose more firmly this time. "Cut that out."

"Get your face away from mine and maybe I'll think about it, fish breath."

"GOD," booms Black*Star's voice from down the hall, and Soul nearly jumps out of his skin, hair sticking up on end. "Would you two just get a room and MAKE OUT already, GROSS. Some of us are trying to get our post-workout protein shake on! Think of the gains!"

If she wasn't blushing before, she certainly is  _now_. Fumbling, Maka feels her shoulders bunching up, and before she even has the chance to defend her honor or whatever bull excuse she'd attempt to yelp at his dumb pig face, Soul's already flinging her pen at him and slamming her door shut.

.

It's hard to say where they stand.

Technically, Maka supposes they're dating or… something like it. They hold hands when they walk to school, and sometimes, when Soul's feeling particularly brave, he kisses her brow before he slinks off to his locker to brood moodily. They're not  _friends_  - or not  _just friends_ , anyway - but to put a proper label on it is decidedly more difficult. There are feelings between them, surely, that aren't strictly platonic, but nothing feels terribly official. And it's not like she doesn't know what she's feeling, either. She doesn't need Stein's (questionable) framed doctorate to diagnose herself with a stupid case of love sickness.

It's frustrating. He's never held her. He's never been  _able_  to hold her, and if she can't find a way to crack this curse, he'll never  _be able to._

… Well. He's never held her aside from that one time, when she's brought him back his bracelet and then thrown herself into his arms. But it'd been so fleeting and short lived that Maka's not sure she can even count it, even if she relives the moment in her dreams almost weekly.

His curse puts unnecessary distance between them. If he were just a normal boy, maybe things would be different. Maybe Maka wouldn't get unusually choked up over holding her maybe-boyfriend's hand on the walk home from her part time job. If he were just a normal boy, maybe the lines of his face wouldn't be so sharp. Maybe, maybe.

Soul looks at her particularly seriously when she shivers. "Hey," he says, and his hand squeezes hers more tightly. "Let's head inside."

The winter chill is more brutal at night. The breeze cuts through her hand-me-down coat, but she's stubborn, and there's something pretty about the way snowflakes fall on his face. "Noooo."

"You're going to catch a cold and then Kid will never let me hear the end of it."

"Hmph," she sighs, squeezing his hand back. "I see how it is. You only care because Kid will scold you for it."

"You know I don't give two shits about that rat-"

"Kidding," she chimes, standing on her toes and booping his nose. He squints at her, eyes nearly crossing to focus on her finger, and he's stupidly cute, looking like a cat about to pounce. "It's not that bad. I want to stay out a little longer. It hardly ever snows here and I want to enjoy it a little longer."

"Ice princess," he scoffs, still watching her finger as she waggles it at him. "At least take my jacket-"

"And deprive you of your leather?" Maka asks, before flicking his nose playfully. "But then how will I know if you're cool or not?"

Soul snorts and gives her hand a tug. She falls into him, shoulders bumping, and something pulls in her chest, deep and longing. What she wouldn't give to slip an arm around his waist, nestle herself into his chest, press a cheek against his collarbone and be a teenager for once. Forget the turmoil around them and just snuggle into this person she loves and trusts, just this one time. Let him unzip his jacket and swaddle her, maybe even tempt him to kiss her forehead and be sappy.

It doesn't happen. She resists the urge, wisely, Soul doesn't sprout whiskers, and Maka tries not to be disappointed as she exhales. The cloud of breath evaporates, and she's left gazing over at him through her lashes as he holds a gloved-hand out and catches a snowflake on his palm.

He smiles crookedly. "Got you something."

Dork. Maka presses a kiss to the back of his other hand. "Aw, you shouldn't have."

.

She lets him drag her back home about twenty minutes later, with his knit hat pulled over her ears. The elastics of her pigtails dig into her head, but there's something oddly sentimental and intimate about wearing something of his, even if it's just a beanie, so she doesn't complain.

Besides, it really is warm. Maka tries not to let him catch her smiling about it.

Instead, she takes the offensive. "You're not sleeping on the roof tonight, you know. I won't let you."

"I have a coat."

"Don't be stupid," she scoffs, pushing her bedroom door open with her hip. She tugs him in after her, and even through they've done this a thousand times, there's something weirdly intimate about it tonight. He's slept in her bed hundreds of times, be it napping for for the night, but always in his cat form. Always when she's taken him into her arms and allowed him to snooze beside her, purring happily.

_Don't be stupid._ She feels stupid, with the way he's looking at her, hair sticking up on end. Bits of his hair are frozen, pointing every which way, and it's as cute as it is weirdly attractive, and Maka stares right back, for a moment. The two of them practically size each other up in the doorway of her bedroom at like eight at night.

The implications of such have never bothered her before. Sure, they're close, and sure, sometimes when two teenagers are holed up in a room together at night, things happen, but it's never really crossed her mind whenever Soul's bunked with her in the past. It's never felt like that, like overwhelming teenage hormones and lust and… whatever else it is that motivates Liz to visit her flavors of the week - Maka can't understand those feelings, can't really read them in herself. It's different, for her. Even if she's already seen the guy in his birthday suit.

She thinks it's different for him, too. He'd said once that he wasn't really interested in girls or guys. Said something about not being concerned about finding a partner or dating, either, but- but sometimes Maka wonders if that'd stemmed from his upbringing, the curse whispering  _worthless_  in his ear.

Because he's not worthless to her. Not undeserving of closeness or partnership or anything of the like. It'd be difficult, sure, to be, erm, intimate with someone without being able to hold them, but others have made it work, right? Her deadbeat father sure did. The family line continues on, regardless.

He watches her, lack of light be damned. He's a cat, after all, at least in part, and his eyes follow her as she lets go of his hand and reorganizes her pillows on her bed.

"... I can go," he suggests, quietly. Maka wonders if he'd noticed the tightness of her shoulders, the rigid way she'd been holding herself. "It's fine, Maka."

"It's snowing," she says, stubbornly, bravely. "If you won't let me stand outside and catch snowflakes on my tongue, I'm not letting you  _sleep in it,_  idiot. You're human and you'll get  _sick,_  and I'm not cruel, you know-"

"Maka," he interrupts. "I'll sleep on the floor."

It's fine. There's no reason why it wouldn't be fine. They've been doing this for months. They'd laid side-by-side on Christmas Eve and split a bottle of wine from Stein's stash. She'd bared her soul for him that night, fears and insecurities and all - there's no reason to be nervous around him now. He knows too much about her. Knows her demons, too.

Soul fits her with a sad smile, then. "I'm like half human anyway."

His self-deprecating jokes break her heart every time. She marches up to him and has half a mind to shake him. "You  _look_ all human to me."

"Looks can be deceiving."

His expression is almost mournful. It really does make her want to cry. It certainly chokes her up, and Maka grabs him by the front of his jacket and gives him a hearty tug inside. "Soul."

"A  _third_ human," he says, brows furrowed. "Just human when it's convenient for everyone around me."

"And  _inhuman_  when it's convenient for them, too," Maka huffs, then pushes his jacket down off his shoulders. His brows raise, then, disappearing beneath his hair, but he doesn't say anything about her manhandling, and instead lets her slip the damp leather from his body. The cuff catches on his beaded blanket, and the loaded look he sends after isn't lost on her. "It's not fair to paint you as a monster just to make themselves feel better, you know."

The jacket drops to the ground, heavy, like discarded armor at his feet. He says nothing, only watches her. Waits for her to make the next move, quietly calculating.

"... I think you're mostly human," she admits, and it dawns upon her again that he can see more in this light than she can, for sure. He can see the heat in her cheeks, the way she's sort of staring at his collarbone, sleek with melted snow, pale and pronounced. "Human where it counts."

"Where it counts," he repeats, still unmoving. "Where would that be?"

If she were a brash girl, she'd go in for the kill. If she were bolder, braver, wiser. But she's not. Bookish Maka, unusual Maka - she's just as lost as he is in this word game they're constructing. "Here," she says, and spreads her palm across his chest, where his heartbeat thumps steadily. He's warm, despite the snow, despite the fact that his jacket had been coolly unzipped the entire time and his flannel is sort of soggy. "You're human  _here._ "

He sighs. "For now."

"Always!"

"Sometimes I have a cat's heart. Or a monster's."

She doesn't even blink. "I was talking about your soul."

Perhaps she's more well-versed in wordplay than he is. He takes half a second to gather his thoughts and process, maybe realize the double meaning - because it really is convenient that 'soul' is his name, too, and makes these things so much easier for her. Meaningful comparisons don't even take effort. They just happen.

"... And even if it wasn't human, that wouldn't matter either," she says, unable to stop herself. "You're you and that's all that really matters, right? It's not like the form you take should make a difference to anyone - well, maybe, I mean, I guess there are things people shouldn't do with  _literal cats,_ but-"

He looks over her shoulder, now, at her bed. "... I can still sleep on the floor."

"My bed's big enough for the both of us-"

"Not if you're not cool with that," he interrupts, and there's something there in his expression that hadn't been before, something new, something a little unnerving.

It burns. Maka feels it in her face, in her cheeks, all the way to her ears. "Um. I don't know why it wouldn't be?"

"Then I'll sleep on the floor," he says, without missing a beat, stepping past her to snag a pillow. "It's fine, anyway, Maka-"

Her heart won't stop beating, jeesh. She's almost afraid it'll beat right out of her chest. " _Soul_ ," she gasps, turning, catching his wrist, and then they're barely a foot apart, and he's looking down at her with those eyes of his, dark like wine.

There's something different about the way he's looking at her tonight. Something different, especially, about the way he's looking at her right now, like there's nothing else, nobody  _else_. And nobody's ever looked at her this way before, like she was something profound, even despite her issues, despite her reservations - and never before has she really wanted anyone to. She doesn't date either. She doesn't feel things the same way other people do, same as him. It's different for her, for him.

Yet here she is, entertaining the thought of touching him. Running her hands down his chest, skating her hands over that dumb fake nipple piercing of his, pressing her mouth against that collarbone of his, still peeking out from beneath his haphazardly buttoned flannel shirt. It's so unlike her that it startles her, and instead of saying anything she just stands there practically gawking at him, his wrist still clutched in her hand.

He still doesn't say anything. Patient Soul, giving her time to think. Nervous Soul, too worried to overstep boundaries and scare off who he probably considers his only friend. She could cry. She could kiss him.

She might kiss him.

"... I'm not… afraid of you," she says finally.

"It's not about being  _afraid._ "

"I'm not afraid of being  _close to you_ ," Maka amends, then, cradling his hand in hers. "And I'm not afraid of being with you. I wouldn't willingly spend all of my time with you if I didn't like being around you, Soul."

He shakes his head. "I don't know how you can be so smart and so stupid at the same time. Christ, I meant-"

"I don't know how to kiss you without turning you into a cat."

Fearless. She wants to be fearless. Or - brave, she wants to be brave enough to fight through her fears, her nerves. Her admittance pays off in spades, and Soul catches himself, seemingly surprised, before his face ends up rosy, too.

And then they're both standing there blushing like fools.

"... Ah." Soul bites his lip. Maka narrows in on it with hawk-like attention. "Your… your lips don't have to embrace me."

"Isn't a kiss like, mouths embracing?"

His face scrunches up. "That's a weird way to put it."

Well, how is she supposed to know? She's never kissed anyone before. She's never wanted to kiss anybody before. He should take responsibility for these confusing, revolutionary feelings he's inspired in her. Maka brings his knuckles to her lips and kisses them, again, for the second time today, because that's safe and proven to not transform her maybe-boyfriend into a feline. "Mouth hugs."

Soul's trying to look cool, she thinks, but with the brightness of his blush it's hard to believe. It eases her nerves, knowing that he's just as affected by all of this as she is. "I think mouth hugs are okay."

"Would you be willing to try?"

He blinks. Licks his lips. "Uuuh…. huh."

"Huh?"

"Uhhuh. Yes. Uh." He blushes, squeezes her hand, gives a little tug. "I'd- yeah."

She's careful not to bump into him. Maka can't wrap her arms around him when she stands on her toes to meet his lips, and she can't hold the back of his neck and run her fingers through his flat-ironed hair, but it's still romantic, she thinks. Or whatever romantic means anyway. His mouth is warm and his lips are soft and even if he can't wrap his arms around her either, Soul still finds a way to make her feel like he wants her there, too.

.

Mouth hugs do not, in fact, count as a real hug. Kissing is fair game.

Maka files that information under the category of interesting and continues to let Soul celebrate this profound discovery by kissing him more. Or letting him kiss her more. Or they continue to kiss each other until Maka's bed feels a lot less scary and then they're kissing there, too.

Soul leans over her, balancing carefully on his palms. It's weird, having someone on top of her like this without actually being on top of her. They tread a dangerous line - how much is too much contact? How far is too far, before Soul gains whiskers and a tail? How far until Maka loses this strange burst of interest in Soul's neck?

His neck is quite interesting, too. And he makes even more interesting noises when she presses a kiss there, just below his ear.

"Okay," he blurts, "whoa, okay, hold up-"

Maka flops back down onto her pillows. "Sorry-?!"

"It's not bad, no," he says, quickly, and sits back on his legs instead of straddling her. "Not bad, just, uh… a lot."

"A lot?"

Soul stares at her for a long moment, seemingly defeated. Maka stares right back, confused, as he shifts nervously and adjusts his belt. "... Never mind. Uh."

Maka's eyes drop to watch his waistband shift. Watches  _something else_ shift. Oh. "Oh."

Well, it shouldn't come as a surprise. She's seen it before. She knows it holds physical weight in this world. Still, it's something she tries not to think about, if only because once she starts it's weirdly hard to stop, and Maka gulps and looks back at his face, instead, because that is a safer area to gawk at. Even if it means subjecting herself to the heat of his eyes, at least she doesn't run the risk of being rude and sizing up his penis.

Who even is she anymore, jeesh.

"Sorry," she manages, squirming now, too. It's weird, but kissing had felt so nice and comfortable - and safe - until about three seconds ago. And it doesn't feel not safe, per se, so much as now she's… uncomfortable, too, and probably for the same reasons Soul is.

Soul tries to smile, but it's more of a grimace. "Don't. You didn't do anything wrong. I didn't… not like it."

"Yeah?"

His face literally could not be more red. "Please don't make me say it out loud."

It should not be an ego boost. This is not something Maka normally seeks out. It absolutely boosts her ego anyway, and if she could, she would sit right up and tackle him down, but she can't. Not if she wants to continue mouth hugging him. She cannot tempt the fates.

"... I liked it too, you know," she admits instead, because if she cannot use physical expression to let him know, she will use her words, dammit. "I didn't think I'd ever like something like that. Or this."

There's a faraway look in his eyes now. "Yeah?"

Soul's right. Saying it out loud is a lot more embarrassing. But if it means he'll come back down and kiss her again, Maka would brave nearly anything. "... It felt nice. Um."

"Like you'd want it to happen to you too?"

Bold of him. Also interesting. Soul seems to be braver himself when it's less about him receiving and more about him giving. Maka also files away this information for future reference. "... Yes?"

Her neck has never been a particular hot spot of hers. Liz had said she had a pretty neck once, while confessing her Kid Cullen conspiracy theory, but Maka had written it off as part of her ploy. After all, Maka's neck really isn't anything special, she supposes - pale, thin, freckled and often half-covered by a collared shirt and tie. Her neck served its purpose and that was that.

She soon discovers her neck feels like much more than just her neck when Soul's lips are on it. His breath is warm, right there below her earlobe, and though his teeth are sharp when he chances a bite, it's nothing she can't handle. It excites her, even, in the weirdest way - the little pinpoints of pain are nothing she can't handle, and she thinks maybe Liz had been way off her mark. Maybe she'd had the two of them confused this whole time.

And oh. She gets it. It is a lot. It's a whole lot.

"A-Aah?" Eloquent. Soul brushes the hair back from her neck and introduces his tongue, this time, and speech escapes her for real. Maka cannot enunciate and instead gasps, then sighs, as if it is pleasurable for her to be licked.

It  _is_ pleasurable for her to be licked. It takes everything in her not to grab him and hold him there forever.

"Good?" he mutters, and oh, the depth of his voice had never bothered her quite like this before. "More?"

"Yes, more," she squeaks, fingers tangled in her sheets. "You're fine, you can, um-"

He bites again and dammit, she aced her SATs, communication should not be this impossible. It is just a mouth. Teeth and tongue are nothing special. She has some of her own and biting herself has never felt this nice before. Biting herself has never made her want to rip out of her clothes and cry out before.

"Am I a furry?" she asks her ceiling, despairingly.

Soul almost laughs. "Nya."

"Oh my god,  _don't._ "

"I'll kinkshame you," he teases, and he's by her collarbone, now, pressing soft kisses around the v-neck of her shirt.

"Y-You wouldn't  _dare_."

Soul stops talking and puts his mouth to better use. Ah. Well, maybe she'll stress about her furry intervention later; the only one making her feel his way is Soul, the human boy, and it's his human mouth that presses wetly against the soft hint of her cleavage. The bed creaks beneath him as he shifts back, scooting, looking up at her warmly as she all but pants.

It's an unspoken question. Maka nods. Soul scoots farther back and slowly rolls up the fabric of her shirt. Presses his mouth against the sensitive skin of her tummy. Maka's head drops back into the pillows and  _fuck,_ maybe she's a furry.

If it makes her a furry, she doesn't care anymore. It can't be wrong to feel this way, not when it seems to make him feel so good, too. Soul doesn't bother with pointless things. Doesn't dally with formalities and niceties - and the look he shoots her when he bites the delicate dip of her waist shoots her heart to the moon. It's as if she's left her body, like this isn't her anymore. The girl feeling these things, going through these motions, making these sounds - it's not her. It couldn't be her.

But it is. Reality sets back in when he sits back on his knees and trails a hand down her thighs. Naked, naked thighs. Suddenly, she's Maka again, and an overwhelming want surges through her like never before. And oh, how she  _wants._

"Can I-"

" _Yes,_ " she gasps. "Please,  _please_."

In any other situation, he might smirk and play it cool, but it seems Soul's just as famished as she is. He doesn't pick or pry, doesn't waggle his brows, doesn't say anything at all - just nudges the hem of her skirt up, waits for her to shimmy out of her panties, and bows his head.

Maka is  _very_ glad mouth hugs do not count as real hugs.

It's overwhelming, at first. So much so that Maka has to dig her heels into the mattress to keep herself from wrapping him in some sort of leg lock. Her gut reaction is to gasp and sigh, or to grab him and pull his hair and work him there, oh, right there,  _Soul_ , but she doesn't because she is stronger than she looks, apparently, and she can't hurt him, no. Not while he's doing things to her. Making her feel things.

He takes his time, though. He doesn't rush through it, like she's been lead to believe he might. He doesn't drop his pants and stick it in and ruin the ending. Instead, Soul pays his respects. Explores, with lips and tongue and teeth, carefully, deliberately, and it's weird, that this feels so much better than whenever she does it to herself. A few fingers get the job done, sure, but when Soul's fingers meet the heat of her Maka nearly shouts.

He smiles against the crook of her thigh. Kisses her right where it matters, and it's a little slippery and molten and she is melting,  _melting_.

She cannot sit still while he's inside of her at any capacity. Can't sit still when he uses that tongue of his and reduces her to absolute boneless putty. His hands may be capable but his mouth is next level, and when he kisses her clit, more sure than he's been about anything else, ever, Maka can't help the jerk of her legs. Can't help the physical need to pull him closer, closer, to rut against him.

Her legs wrap around his head with almost prophetic clarity. Soul gets in one more good pump of his fingers before the world must shift around him, and suddenly there is no longer a head between her legs and Maka  _shrieks_.

" _ **Fuck**_ **-"**

" _SORRY,_ " she yelps, sitting up, feeling damp and uncomfortable and so close that she might actually cry, christ. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Soul the cat stares at her with wide, disappointed eyes. Maka tugs down the hem of her skirt. "Uhhhhh."

"I'll just, um-"  _Dig my vibrator out from under my bed and finish things by myself because I am the actual worst._  "... Handle. It. S-So you can um. Just."

"...  _Watch?_ "

If she lets a catboy watch her masturbate she will tread too deeply into furry waters. That is decidedly too dangerous for her heart to handle. He is (thankfully) less weirdly sexy when he has pink toe beans and fuzzy white ears, but it's still Soul in there, watching her with dark red eyes, and Maka squirms where she sits, wet and angry with herself for ruining things right before the good part.

"... Howwww about you just focus on turning back and then I'll return the favor," she says, finally, feeling terribly red and soaked and  _so not herself._

Soul's ears perk. "I-Wh-"

She can't look at him when he's watching her like that. Maka rolls herself up into an aroused little blanket burrito and closes her eyes, effectively placing herself in furry time out. "Just hurry up and have hands again, would you?!"

"Wh- who's fault is that?"

"Shut up!"

His head nudges her back. "Maka, come on, come out."

"I am not coming out of this blanket until you have that stupid nipple piercing on again, do you hear me?!"

Soul sputters. " _Stupid-_ -"

"I want to see  _NIPPLES_ before you're anywhere near me, Soul!"

His response is perhaps the saddest ' _nya'_  Maka's ever heard. And, well, if he's going to  _nya_  at her in a situation like this then he deserves a cooldown period. Naughty kitties don't get pussy. That's just how the cookie crumbles.


End file.
